


Through My Eyes

by enbysaurus_rex



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Autistic Katsuki Yuuri, Dysphoria, Eating Disorder, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Other, Recovery, Relationship(s), SPD, Sensory Overload, Sensory Processing Disorder, Trans Character, Trans Yuuri, binding mention, nonbinary Yuuri, unsafe binding mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 10:18:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12933177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enbysaurus_rex/pseuds/enbysaurus_rex
Summary: Yuuri is autistic and has SPD, and it changes the way they see the world (and Victor).





	Through My Eyes

Yuuri sat on the beach and watched the sand run through their fingers. The bits of mica and seaglass and who-knew-what-else caught the sun and shimmered as they moved across their fingers and plummeted into a pile near their feet. 

The waves and seagulls sounded around them, but they were more attuned to the subtle hiss and rasp of sand grains against one another and their palm. Yuuri heard the sand grains scrape against each other as they slid down the pile that was forming under Yuuri’s open hand. They scooped up another handful of sand, discarding anything that hadn’t been ground up into sand yet, and continued. 

Yuuri was in an almost trance-like state, with the waves, the sand, the gulls, and the solitude. It was almost like the feeling they got from running through their skating warm ups, or practicing the same move over and over and over again. 

People always thought that they practiced because they loved skating, which was probably true, or that they didn’t like socializing, also true, but mostly it was that they loved that feeling. Yuuri craved it, actually, and although people were lovely sometimes, they often broke Yuuri’s fragile little bubble feeling. 

They didn’t usually mind, especially not when Makkachin showed up, owner in tow, as he did now. 

“Yuuri!” Came the boisterous, familiar, almost too-loud call from across the sand. “Have you seen what’s for dinner?”

Yuuri shook their head, and watched the (absolutely entrancing) silhouette move towards them in the inconsistent way that told them that Victor was sinking into the sand as he walked. Even so, he almost glided, like a wonderfully smooth axial piston, topped with hair that looked like silver taffy that had only been partially pulled. 

Victor flopped down next to his partner. “You were very interested in that sand. What were you thinking about?”

Yuuri looked out over the ocean and shrugged. They stopped explaining the feeling years ago, because most people just didn’t understand, and words could be hard to find at the best of times. “I was just spacing out. What’s for dinner?”

 

“I dunno,” Victor said flippantly, shifting into an easy stretch. Yuuri was pretty sure he didn’t even notice what he was doing any more; most of the skaters didn’t. “I mostly just wanted to see what you were up to.”

“Relaxing,” Yuuri said, watching the sun bounce off the waves and shimmer like those tiny pieces of mica. “Do you want to go skate? No one’s booked the rink tonight. I checked.” With Victor, Yuuri could sometimes be that calm and happy, too. It was easiest when the two of them were skating together, but it happened sometimes, when Victor was doing the things that Yuuri thought of as uniquely Victor.

The unique way he moved, the pressure of his hugs, the simultaneously fluid and intense way that he moved his arms, his smell (everyone had a smell, but Victor’s was definitely one of the best), the unique timbre of his voice, the marble-like texture of his irises...there was a lot, and although Yuuri noticed all of this, they had very little idea what Victor’s face as a whole looked like. Oops.

Yuuri leaned into Victor and pretended it was only supposed to be for a brief second. Victor’s coat was that awful sounding, weird feeling material that sounded like a squeegee on a dry windshield. 

Victor leaned over, his coat making the sound, and smooched Yuuri. “I’m always happy to skate with you. Food first. We don’t need another relapse.”

Victor had found out about Yuuri’s eating disorder one day, when Minako-sensei had finally decided she had had enough of Victor’s food related insults. He had slipped up a couple of times, but had started reminding Victor to eat regularly again. 

Yuuri made a face and stood stiffly before offering Victor a hand up. Victor took it, and they walked towards home together. 

The sand felt like sandpaper under Yuuri’s feet, and although it wasn’t necessarily unpleasant, it was a bit much. That plus the sounds of the birds and the ocean and the sand and the traffic and the coat and Makkachin’s panting and… it was a little overwhelming, but Yuuri was used it. Since they was comfortable with Victor and where they were going, Yuuri was able to almost turn off their brain. Although Yuuri had their eyes open, they weren’t really seeing; they were just letting all of the information wash over them and letting Victor and habit bring them home. 

Yuuri did have to be careful about autopilot, though, because it meant that they weren’t going to remember anything as clearly as they might if they were actually trying to process all that information.

The two of them went home, ate, and changed before heading out to the rink. Yuuri had a key, and had for years, and so they let themselves in and turned on the bare minimum of lights needed. 

The quiet, dim stillness was one of Yuuri’s favorite things in the whole entire world, and somehow, Victor understood that. Neither of them made a whole lot of noise, except for their skates, at least not in these late night practice sessions. Morning and afternoon sessions were for talking and practicing with music, night was for ballet and quiet skating. 

They both began tying on their skates and warming up, as they always did, and Yuuri took that time to turn their brain back on. They focused on the thunkshhh of his skates, and the feeling of the wall running away under their fingers as they skated laps, feeling the bumps in the wall the same way a car feels speed bumps. 

Yuuri also heard the harsh industrial buzzing of the fluorescent lights, the industrial hum of the chillers, Victor’s skating, and smelled the gasoline from the Zamboni, as well as the special ice rink smell that existed as a whole unit in their mind. 

The two of them only talked once or twice, mostly when Victor fell on the scratched and pitted ice and Yuuri decided it was time to get out the Zamboni, as ridiculously loud as it was. The ice really was awful. 

Yuuri, despite their objection to the noise, was the best at driving the Zamboni, probably because they had spent so many years practicing without anyone else around to smooth out the ice. So they opened the gates and pulled themself into the seat, looking over at the ear defenders in the seat next to him. Normally Yuuri wore them when they were smoothing out the icr, but they rarely wore the ear defenders with other people around, because they was worried they wouldn’t hear someone yelling if something went wrong. So they left them off.

Yuuri turned the key and winced in anticipation of the diesel engine kicking in. It roared to life and maintained an uncomfortable, unbalanced frequency that set their teeth on edge as they backed the machine onto the ice with the ease of practice. Victor had left the rink, and watched Yuuri resurface the ice with warm feelings in his eyes. 

Yuuri felt the warmth of Victor’s companionship like an dryer warmed clothes, and Victor, from the small little smile on his face, seemed to feel the same way. 

After Yuuri had smoothed the ice, the two of them sat on the bench, head on each other's shoulders and arms around each other's waists. 

The two of them talked usually only when it was necessary, and certainly they had fun when they chatted, but a lot of times they just enjoyed each other's company. 

Yuuri stared at the plastic hockey glass around the rink. It was scratched so much it was practically frosted, and Yuuri knew from experience what the rounded edges at the top would feel like if they ran their fingers along it.

When Yuuri remembered to look back over at Victor, they met a pair of blue eyes that looked like they had been crafted by a master glassblower. The eyes were absolutely breathtaking, and Yuuri lost themself in the way the radiating raised pieces caught the dim light and the way the colours seemed both opaque and translucent at the same time. 

“What's so interesting?” Victor asked, amusement and warmth coating his voice like chocolate dropping from a chocolate fountain. 

Yuuri blinked, still distracted by those stunning eyes and how they felt like warm, soft marbles in his brain. 

“You’re… hngggnh.” Yuuri tried to come up with words that would make sense to Victor. “Your eyes are beautiful,” they said, flushing and looking down at their boyfriend's graceful, enchanting hands. 

Yuuri felt Victor’s feather light warning touch on the side of their face before their lips touched. Victor’s lips felt like the chest of a bird that was about to hop up on your finger, and his touch was just as tender. 

“I always wonder what's in your head,” Victor admitted, once he had pulled away. “You seem to be in your own little world so much of the time, and then you stay stuff like that.”

Yuuri smiled, flattered. They loved it when Victor noticed small things about them. But… “I don't see the world the way most people do. I… everything is… It's always happening and it's big and, and bright and… and sometimes scary but it's really really beautiful and…” Yuuri sounded helpless, and they felt very much that way. How did you explain all the little things? The way things caught the sun and painted a picture with feelings in your head, or the way you could play with a remembered sound the way most people played with sea glass as children? 

Victor laughed quietly, but not meanly. “Are you trying to answer my question? Because it sounds like you're babbling.”

Yuuri flushed, embarrassed. “I am,” they said sheepishly. “I just love you a lot.”

Victor chuckled, one of Yuuri’s favorite sounds. It was warm and rough and heavy and if they had to compare it to anything it would be like worn leather. “I love you a lot, too. Come on, let's either skate or go home.”

\----

Yuuri and Victor slept in different beds.

It wasn't because they didn't like cuddling or sex, but it was because Victor thrashed around so much that he bruised everyone but Makkachin, who had learned to sleep on the pillow.

When Yuuri slept, it was never, ever, in a binder. They needed their lungs too much for that, and so to prevent temptation, didn't even own a binder. They often slept in a sports bra, but last night they had left it off because they were getting sore. 

When Yuuri swung their legs out of bed, they shivered. It was going to be a bad day, but not so bad they couldn't train. It wasn't ever that bad.

Yuuri could hear the clock from the hallway outside, Makkachin from the next room over, the shifting of their blankets, the creaking sound of their own tendons, the rushing of water through the walls, the sound of socks against carpet...Victor was coming to say hello. 

The carpet noise got louder and was followed by the sound of a hand hitting the doorknob, the doorknob turning, the lock mechanism rattling unhappily, and the hinges creaking open. In came a wave of the air from the hallway, which smelled like spices and other things they couldn't identify, which were overwhelming nevertheless. 

Yuuri stood and caught a glimpse of Victor before being enveloped in an overwhelming hug. If it had been anyone other than Victor or a select few other people, it would have been unbearable. Instead, it was just barely bearable.

“Good morning,” Yuuri said, and it didn't feel good. They were just glad that they couldn't hear themself because of Victor’s embrace.

“Morning!” Victor said, and the sound of it resonated in his chest and seemed to fill the entire room and drown all the other sounds. Yuuri was pretty sure they stopped breathing for a moment, and Victor pulled away. 

“Time for breakfast!” 

Yuuri made a face and turned away to pull on some clothes. “No thanks.” The last thing they needed was to go through the ridiculous amount of stress and overwhelming smells, flavors, and textures that the rice, lettuce, sausage, and rolled egg that they usually had for breakfast entailed. Let alone making the food. No thank you!

Victor gave Yuuri the unforgiving coach eyes. “No food means no energy to train, and you have to train. Let's go.” 

Pulling on a bra (which always felt wrong in front of Victor, even though Victor knew they were trans), Yuuri simply shook their head. “I'll bring a protein bar.” They weren’t going to eat it, 

Yuuri processed the sounds of Victor coming up behind him a second after his arms were around Yuuri’s bare waist. Oh no, that was not allowed. Not with the sweater Victor was wearing. 

Yuuri grabbed Victor’s wrists and spun so that his arms were out at a 45°angle, but his face was very close to Yuuri’s. 

Victor grinned, and Yuuri shook their head, but planted a kiss on Victor’s lips. “Training, but only a protein bar today, I think.” Not even that, but they weren’t going to tell Victor that. 

They turned away to pull on their least offensive pair of pants and their softest shirt before staring at the socks. There was one pair that Yuuri didn’t wear except on bad sensory days, and today definitely qualified. 

Yuuri pulled them on, and pulled on their shoes, as well. The laces scraped against their fingerprints and they internally rolled their eyes. This was not going to go well. Training was probably going to get cut short by some sort of breakdown. And Victor hadn’t really seen one of those yet.

Yuuri made it through the house, past the giant laundry room that sounded like it contained an entire screaming sports stadium, through the kitchen which sounded like hell and had so many smells Yuuri felt their brain short circuit, and out the squeaky door. 

They both began jogging along the familiar route, and Yuuri tried to breathe deeply. Every single miniscule sound was scraping against their eardrums, everything was too bright and had been reduced to too many confusing shapes that didn’t fit together the way it normally did, and everything touching them was agony. 

A truck passed and Yuuri covered their ears, starting to breathe more heavily than the run warranted. The hands only helped a little bit, and now they heard the blood rushing through their hands and the muscles shifting and tendons creaking and gulls screaming and Victor talking and….

Victor loomed, and so Yuuri said, “I’m fine,” but it came out half-whimper. The world was crashing down around their ears, but no one else knew or even noticed. The concrete felt like knives stabbing them through their clothes and-

“No, you’re not,” Victor said, concern plain in his voice, even though it took Yuuri a second to figure out what he had said. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s…Everything hurts,” Yuuri told him, tears starting to drip down their face. They were shaking, which only made everything hurt worse. They knew what was happening, and they were kind of disgusted with themself for not being able to tough it out. It wasn’t actually physical pain. 

But it sure as hell felt like it.

“Are you injured?” Concern edged closer to alarm, and Yuuri somehow found the strength to stand up, their throat tight with irrational fear.

“No. I…” Yuuri tried to find the words to make all of this make sense. But first they needed to make everything stop. Everything. Every atom in their body screamed that it wanted to stop existing. 

Yuuri started walking home, and their hands fell from their ears. They held their arms out so no pieces of their body touched and winced every time a car drove past.

“Yuuri,” came the strident voice, and the sounds behind them made them shrink out of the way, although they didn’t know why. Victor’s hand brushed against the outside of the arm they had just moved, and lightning shot up Yuuri’s arm. 

“Later,” Yuuri pleaded, and continued the weird waddle (they really didn’t want their legs to touch) home. 

They sobbed intermittently, but had the presence of mind to sneak in the back door of their house so that neither the guests nor Yuuri's parents would see that anything was wrong. 

When finally, finally Yuuri made it to their bedroom, they gingerly took off all of their clothes except their bra, touching as little cloth and body as possible, and then equally as gingerly crawled into bed and thrashed, trying to get comfortable. 

It wasn’t possible.

Victor stood in the doorway and wore an expression that was equal parts confused, concerned, and uncomfortable. “Yuuri...what’s...are you okay?”

Yuuri was very clearly not okay, but they seemed slightly less uncomfortable now. Not that that meant much. 

“I’m gonna be like this for a while,” they said, still thrashing and shivering intermittently. “Nothing happened, but please don’t tell my parents?”

Victor nodded, entirely perplexed, and after much thought, sat in Yuuri’s corner. He didn’t feel right leaving them alone right now, even though there was nothing he could do. 

A few hours later, Victor, who had started stretching and scrolling through instagram looked up. He realized that he hadn’t heard thrashing for a while, and that was a significant improvement. 

Yuuri’s eyes were closed and they were under the covers, but they held themself less stiffly than they had before. It was very clear they were awake, because they were doing the finger twiddly thing that they often did when they were stressed or bored.

“Yuuri,” Victor asked quietly. “Are you okay?”

Yuuri’s eyes opened, and they shifted, twitching a little, but not nearly as much as they did before. That was a good sign, he thought. 

“Yup,” Yuuri said, flinching a little as they pulled their covers off and swung their legs over the edge. “I’m ready to train, let’s go.” 

Victor was initially shocked, and then narrowed his eyes and sat up. “No way, no training. We can’t afford for that to happen again. What did happen?!”

Yuuri sat back down, and debated whether it was worth getting back into bed when the sheets hurt, too. Everything hurt. But on balance, the sheets were predictable, so they got back into bed and only flinched a little when the sheets touched their bare legs. 

“I, um…” Yuuri looked for the words. “I have sensory processing disorder.” 

“What’s that?” Poor Victor only knew one of those English words, and it wasn’t the useful ones.

“When I’m sitting here in my room, I can hear the laundry, the kitchen, my clothes, my breathing, my heart, my muscles, my sheets when I move, the heating system, the pipes in the walls...and I can’t stop hearing them. Seeing works the same way. So does touch, which is really bad because it hurts. I can feel my fingerprints and-”

Victor looked horrified as the implications dawned on him. “How have you not gone crazy?!”

Yuuri gave him a ‘really?!’ look. “Normally it’s okay, but...not today. Today was, is, bad. But I can train now. It normally doesn’t bother me this much.”

Victor shook his head. “Not today. Get some sleep, and we can train tomorrow.”

\----

Yuuri woke up the next morning to their alarm, and began getting dressed. They were still a bit squishy, but they were definitely ready to train. The spandex tights went on inside out today, so that the seams wouldn’t be tight to their legs, and so did the socks, and the underwear. The sports bra didn’t have a seam, and the shirt they chose was the shirt they had thrown off after their breakdown yesterday. 

It was time for breakfast, and although that nagging little voice inside their head told them that they didn’t need to eat and praised them for how thin and hungry they were feeling, they walked into the kitchen and began making the thing they usually made-- rice, lettuce, sausage, and rolled egg. 

Yuuri was usually the one to cook breakfast, because although Victor sometimes woke up first, he had trouble remembering how to cook. Plus, Yuuri just enjoyed the routine and the chance to wake up.

Victor came in and got out the breakfast dishes, which scraped and clattered as Victor pulled them out, and then clinked when they were set on the table. The chopsticks were the same way (even in America, Yuuri refused to eat with a fork. Spoons were just fine, but forks scraped and were just awful), except they were wooden so they didn’t make quite as much noise. 

Next came the glasses and Yuuri flinched a little involuntarily when the two glasses scraped against one another. Thankfully, it didn’t look like Victor had noticed. 

Breakfast was ready just about then, so Yuuri grabbed the dishes and filled them, before setting all the dirtied utensils in the sink (carefully, but still wincing as they clinked). 

The two of them sat at the tiny kitchen table, shoveling food into their mouths, Yuuri ignored, with some success, the mouth and eating sounds that could be so unfortunate, and then got up and carefully put the rest of the dishes in the sink. 

Yuuri had really only managed to eat half what was in their bowl, and so shoved a protein bar into the side pocket of their bag with an almost zipper-like sound before pulling on their shoes. They winced as the force they used was a tad excessive and jammed them backwards into the wall. 

Victor, bless his heart, was loud and always would be. Yuuri didn’t mind -- they knew that they were loud when their sensory issues weren’t acting up -- though they were a bit frustrated. It was what it was. 

The two of them left, duffels in hand and backpacks on backs, to spend a few hours at the gym before they went to the ice rink. They had a slightly longer day of training than usual today because of the time they had missed yesterday. 

When the two of them walked into the gym, Yuuri was smacked in the face by the fluorescent lights, and squinted a little, even though they knew it wouldn't help. 

The sounds had time to hit their ears, and the slap-slap of Victor’s shoes, the rubbing of the canvas bag against their pants, the clank of weights hit each other, the yelling from the racquet ball courts, and the sounds from the tv were all there. 

Yuuri put in their headphones and turned the music up as loud as they could bear, just to try and drown out the other sounds. The familiar intro started playing, and at least the little background sounds in the music were predictable, unlike the sounds in the gym. It still hurt, but less than it would have otherwise, and the familiarity of the music grounded them even if it wasn’t comfortable. 

Weightlifting was as grounding as it was gender-affirming. The repetitive shhh-clunk of the machine and the reassuring way the chair pressed into their back and the smooth, strong, powerful way their legs pressed the weights. As much as their eyes burned from the lights and their ears ached, this was comforting, both in its routines and its sensations. 

The rest of training went similarly, and when the two of them finally went home that night, Victor watched Yuuri closely. Yuuri, tired from the workout and still upset about a minor fight they had gotten into earlier, asked, “What?” a little more crossly than was warranted.

“I didn’t say anything,” Victor said, and then looked out over the ocean. They were walking home past the ocean, and the sea was uninviting and the moon was small.

Yuuri saw black scallops with gray outlines that looked almost ghostly. It looked like viscous paint or oil slopping across the horizon and absorbing the reluctant moonlight. It looked like it was clingy and would drip nastily from your fingers as you tried to claw it off. 

“You were staring,” Yuuri said curtly. “And it wasn’t an ‘i-love-you-so-much’ stare.” If they had to compare it to anything, it would be the look a trainer gave when you messed up the jump that they most loved. 

“I…” Victor seemed to be choosing his words carefully, which was never a good sign. “I...yesterday...I was worried.” Despite the words, Victor’s tone was remarkably guarded, and for some reason he seemed uncomfortable with voicing his thoughts. It smelled like the time Yuuri had asked Victor about his relationship with Yakov. 

That rubbed Yuuri the wrong way. Didn’t he know how hard they tried to not let it interfere with their training? Didn’t he understand how much they hated that that had happened? They had it under control, couldn’t Victor see that? 

“I was fine.” It came out far colder than they meant it to, but they stood by it, feeling the words roll around in their mouth like sugar-crusted sour candies. Seemed like a good idea at the time, but the sugar makes the roof of your mouth raw and the sour burns it. 

Victor looked at Yuuri, then opened his mouth, and closed it uneasily. He very clearly wasn’t sure what to say to that-- or at least he knew what he wanted to say wouldn’t go well, and was trying to come up with an alternative. 

“I care about you,” Victor said, looking uneasily towards the desolate beach, and finally decided to slow down and stop, even though it was a little chilly out. His feet dragged as he angled right, and stood with his arms on top of the railing. 

After the not-silent-silence dragged on (there were no crickets, but it felt as though there should have been), Yuuri prompted, a little antagonistically, but trying to reign themself in, “and?”

“And…” Victor repeated, a note of helplessness discordant with the echoed frustration. The word dragged itself out like rubber on a rough sidewalk. The sound bordered on unpleasant, but Yuuri couldn’t quite decided if it had quite gotten there. “I care about you,” and this time Victor sounded more sincere and more troubled. “And I never want to see you like that.”

Yuuri took a deep breath, reminding themself that Victor didn’t want them to have to experience it, not that Victor wanted to ignore the issue entirely and wanted Yuuri to hide that piece of their life from him. “You won’t,” Yuuri found themself promising. “I...am not usually like that. It doesn’t normally interfere with my training.” Yuuri decided that they would rather have this conversation with Victor-the-coach, not an odd combination of Victor-the-fiance and Victor-the-coach. 

Victor-the-fiance, though, was the one looking with heavy tenderness as Yuuri joined him at the weathered railing. “That’s…” he caught himself. “I’m worried about you, not just your training,” Victor looked towards the ocean, and placed his beringed hand gently over Yuuri’s gloved one. 

Yuuri wasn't quite sure what to say. “I'm fine,” they repeated, but this time their voice was quiet and harsh with emotion. “I…” Yuuri wasn't entirely sure what they wanted to say. On one hand, they wanted all the pent up frustration and burning sense of injustice to come out like ash from a volcanic eruption-- to blanket everything with the chalky, hot feelings so that Victor would finally understand. They wanted him to know that sometimes they were just hurt and frustrated and needed to flinch away from the entire world but that that wasn't allowed so they just had to deal.

On the other hand, they wanted him to know how nice it could be, and that they were honestly okay most days, but not every day. But that they noticed the breathtaking marbles and the inky, oily sea and the perfect stillness of a step sequence and the way their brain sang when a touch of cold stone would zip through their body and… 

Yuuri just had a lot of feelings.

Victor waited, because he could almost see Yuuri wrestling with the words and feelings that needed to come out. Yuuri’s hair matched the ocean-- restless and windswept and black, and finally, when they seemed to be getting too worked up Victor ran his fingers through it.

“You…” he prompted, expectantly, and trying to hide the frustration. 

Yuuri stared intensely at Victor’s silver, moonlit hair and opened their mouth. It caressed their eyes with its soft angles and glowing familiarity. “It's okay. It's normal? I just...notice the small things. Sometimes that's just...a lot.” Yuuri fumbled their way through the explanation, and tried to imbue the words with everything they felt.

Victor wasn't entirely sure how to respond, so he nodded and felt for Yuuri’s hand. “I love you,” he said, and in those words were a whole ocean of meaning and feeling and thought.

And it was enough.

\----

**Author's Note:**

> Yuuri's SPD is based primarily on my own, but I'm not autistic so if I messed something up, please let me know! If something doesn't quite make sense, don't be afraid to let me know


End file.
